


you from yesterday

by questors (sieges)



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Number Five | The Boy Attempts To Feel Emotions, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Personal Growth, Sibling Bonding, but everything is really back to normal, five learns that he doesn't know his siblings as well as he thought he did, post-s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26268319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sieges/pseuds/questors
Summary: The difference between who his siblings once were and who they are now.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Allison Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Diego Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Luther Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 26
Kudos: 330





	you from yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> My obsession with TUA was already getting out of hand, so I realized the best way to get the brainrot out was to write about it. Had no idea as to what it'd be until I re-listened to The Kids From Yesterday by My Chemical Romance and cranked this up in two days.

It starts like this: Five gets the order wrong. 

“Why the banana muffin?” Allison asks, taking the seat across him. 

Five frowns at her. “Why not?” He’d chosen a place for them at the corner of the shop, closest to the door. The wall is see-through glass, both a good and bad thing since it allows him to watch any outsiders but also allows them to do the same. Though he prefers a place at the back, with their velvet cushions and better lighting, the farther he is from the door means the harder it’ll be to escape and fight in a more open area, and the more condensed a place is, the easier it is to end up having bloodbaths.

These are thoughts he’d cataloged in a mere matter of seconds upon entering the shop half an hour ago. Lining up at the counter and purchasing two black coffees and a banana muffin, as well, had been a decision he didn’t think twice about. Every choice he makes is weighed on his knowledge, and if there’s one thing he’s confident in, it’s about how much he knows. Forty-five years of being alone meant there had been nothing to do past surviving and learning, and when he was eventually recruited by the Commission, that hadn’t changed. 

Even then, before he ran away from home, before he wanted to foolishly prove their father wrong by insisting that he could do the impossible— he was always seen as the greediest compared to the rest of his siblings, having a desire to just _know more_ that was eerily familiar to Reginald himself. It was never a compliment when his siblings would tell him that, back when they were all the same age and living under strict rules and parental indifference, but what they thought hadn’t mattered. 

Now though—

“Five, you hate this,” Allison points out. 

“Who says it’s for me?” Five says. “That’s for you. You used to eat this a lot as a kid. Whenever Mom would make them after mission day, you’d be the first to run to the kitchen and grab at least five before Diego and Klaus could horde it.”

It might be stupid— _childish_ , even—but there’s a flush of pride he feels for being able to remember such a fact, no matter how insignificant. He hadn’t seen his siblings for most of his life, after all, so every time there’s something about them that he remembers, tiny little anecdotes that speak more of their personality than their powers, he can’t help but feel relieved. Though it’s never been a lie that everything he’d done, it’d been for the world and for his family, there had been moments when he wondered if it was all just an excuse, something he repeatedly told himself simply because there was nothing else he could hold onto but the memory of his family that might not even exist anymore. 

“Oh,” Allison replies, sounding startled by the sudden trip down memory lane. “I’m actually—I’m actually allergic to this now. Anything that’s got to do with bananas. Found out about it when I was eighteen. I forgot you didn’t know.” 

There isn’t a _sorry_ , because this isn’t really the kind of thing you apologize for—it’s not like she _asked_ to be allergic, after all—but she sounds apologetic regardless, and it unsettles Five. It’s unnecessary, and he’s above feeling embarrassment for making an error. She doesn’t need to sound like that. It just makes things into a bigger deal than they’re supposed to be. 

“It’s fine,” Five says, and it is, but for some reason, his tone contradicts what he’s actually thinking. His brows knit together, puzzled, though in the end, he decides to brush it off and squash the disappointment in himself for being wrong. He pulls the plate to him instead. “I can take it. Food is food.”

“This isn’t the apocalypse,” Allison tells him, but there’s a slight smile on her face as Five takes a bite off the muffin. She reaches for one of the cups of coffee, but makes a face before she lifts it up. “I don’t drink black coffee.”

“Who said that was for you?” Five asks, easily plucking the cup from her grasp to take a sip from it. The heat doesn’t deter him. “They’re both for me.”

The comment manages to elicit a full blown laugh from Allison, both amused and startled, like she hadn’t expected him to say that. “God, you’re infuriating,” She says, but she’s still beaming. 

Five hasn’t really done anything, but the awkward mood has dissipated and for some reason, he feels like he’s done something _right_.

He takes another sip of the coffee as Allison starts to talk about how her latest project is going. What he learns, he files away in his mind, certain that he’s not going to make the same slip up again. 

* * *

Luther finds Five by the bar area of the house, cradling a bottle of fancy Japanese whiskey. At some point, Five had peeled the label off just in case Grace would come and tell him to stop drinking, and though his tolerance is high and right now he’s vaguely tipsy at best, he doesn’t know why he assumed that removing the label would make her mistake what he’d been drinking as water instead of anything else. He doesn’t really know why he _cares_ either, considering that he’d been the least close with her compared to everyone in the family. 

Without saying anything, Luther pulls up a stool to sit beside Five. “I thought you were at Vanya’s.”

“I was,” Five replies. “Before she kicked me out.”

“Ah.”

Luther sounds like he knows what Five is referring to even though he hadn’t said anything. Immediately, he swivels his head to his brother, narrowing his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You two got in a fight, didn’t you?”

“No.” Five gives him a funny look. “Luther, I don’t get into squabbles. We’re not kids anymore.”

Luther chooses not to say anything to that. It only takes a few seconds and another swig of the bottle—Five ignores the way Luther’s eyes widen; it’s his fault for still seeing Five as a kid just because of his physical appearance—before Five says, “Back when we were kids, she’d slip into my room during the nights when we couldn’t sleep and practice.”

Their walls had been soundproof, so they never disturbed others. When Five looked back, he realized how he’d never been particularly close with any of his family, but Vanya had been the one he spent the most time with. In its own way, that had been the nearest thing he had to a real sibling relationship, and even though he never asked Vanya if he could listen to her, had acted that he couldn’t care less whether it was a tradition that stopped or not, those fleeting moments mattered a lot to him, more than he’d ever admit. 

“Huh,” Luther says. “So that’s what you two were always up to.”

Five shrugs. Sometimes Ben would be there. Number Five, Six, and Seven. A trio, somewhat. “She used to have stage fright, but then she said practicing in front of me always soothed her nerves.” This wasn’t something he actually knew until later on, after he’d gotten back. When Vanya admitted that to him, he realized that he never got to attend a single recital or concert of hers. The others hadn’t either, apparently, but now things are different, and they’re planning to go to her upcoming one in a few months. “But when I asked her earlier if I could listen to her practice, she wouldn’t let me. Said it ruined her concentration or something.” 

“Is that why you’re upset?”

No. It’s not really because of that, Five thinks. It’s more like he thought it’d be something she’d like, _appreciate,_ even, a nice nod to their history that she may have forgotten but Five remembered vividly. It’s more like a part of him thought he knew Vanya well enough that she’d be all too willing to indulge in. But instead her expression became closed off and she said that she didn’t let anyone watch her practice, and not even Five asking was going to change that. 

Figuring out whether or not he’d been hurt or offended by the implication isn’t something Five wants to dwell on. All he knows is that he’d been annoyed, because it’s yet another reminder that there are things he doesn’t know, things that have changed. And it makes sense, of course, given their time apart, because people don’t stay the same forever, but it still puts him off—both the fact that he’s still making mistakes, no matter how minuscule, and the fact that he can’t let go of how he still _expects_ to know. “Luther, did something happen to Vanya and the rest of you while I was gone? Besides the book. And Ben.”

Luther pauses, thinking about it. “Not in relation to the violin thing,” he answers. “You know, Five, sometimes it’s not that deep. People just change because they do, and sometimes they don’t... just because.” 

Two weeks ago, Five found out that Allison was allergic to one of things she loved most as a kid. Today, he learned that Vanya didn’t trust him enough— _anymore_ —to let him listen to her practice like she always did before. Three days ago, he discovered that Luther had a large visible cut on his thigh that he never completely recovered from because their father’s reaction to seeing it was to send him on another mission the next day to teach him a lesson on caution. 

These things that Five didn’t know about them are inevitable, and it only makes sense that he can’t account for everything. And it shouldn’t matter, not when he has what’s important down to pat, but maybe the reason he’s frustrated at himself for not knowing, for never really _bothering_ to, is because he doesn’t want to be like their father. Their father, who knew their abilities and behaviors to the tiniest of details but nothing about how Vanya sounds like a dolphin when she sneezes. Or how Luther is terrible at trying to navigate his way in the dark. Or how Diego is deathly afraid of needles. Or how Klaus likes sugar-free donuts. Or how Allison sometimes listens to foreign lullabies to fall asleep. 

And despite Five’s indifference to people drawing parallels between him and their father, the only reason he can take them in stride is because he knows, deep down, that they’re wrong, because they _aren’t_ the same. 

So the small details, the tiny indications and possibilities that they _are_ , bothers him. 

“You’re thinking about something,” points out Luther. 

Five rolls his eyes and hops off the bar stool, leaving the whiskey bottle behind. It hadn’t done much, really; just made him look like a pity party. Delores would be disappointed in him. “You should be worried if I wasn’t.”

“I know, but this is about something big. You _realized_ something,” Luther continues, following him as he makes his way out of the living room area and climbs up the stairwell. “Is there another apocalypse? Is someone new about to hunt us down? Are you in trouble? Five!”

Five stops. “It’s nothing,” he says, turning to Luther. He’s changed a lot from then, Five thinks, in more ways than one. It’s good, and it’s not to the point where Luther looks like a complete stranger, but doesn’t make the voice in Five’s head quiet down—the one that tells him that Luther might just be another reminder of the reality that the real stranger here is _Five_ for missing out on so much. The thought makes him simultaneously angry and sad. It’s not a mix of emotions that he thinks are wise to have, but he somehow manages to tamper them down enough to admit to Luther, “I just have a long way to go before I become better at this.”

Luther’s eyebrows knit together. “Better at what?”

“At being a sibling.” Five shrugs. “I missed a lot. So I need to catch up.” 

“It wasn’t like we were exactly _great_ to each other while you were gone,” Luther says slowly, clearly not getting it. "We’re all on the same boat here.”

But Five shakes his head, his patience starting to run thin. There’s no way Luther would understand. “It’s different for me.” 

Because _he’s_ the one who resembles Reginald the most. And he doesn’t want to become the very thing that splits his family apart when they’re finally back together again. 

Before Luther can say anything more, Five teleports away. 

* * *

Later that night, Five accidentally finds Diego in the back of an alleyway beating up a group of suspicious-looking men. It’s not hard to assume that this is part of his vigilante business that Klaus had referred to a couple of times. 

“I don’t want you here, Five,” Diego tells him when he pops in, even though he just helped him take down one of the guys during his attempt to make his presence known to his brother. “I can do this on my own.”

“Sure,” Five deadpans, before he flickers out to punch a guy who’d been charging up at them from a distance, hitting him hard enough to cause the attacker to black out in a single attack. 

“I could’ve handled that,” Diego says gruffly. “I can do this on my own.”

With a frown, Five watches him rush ahead to deliver a nasty kick to one guy and a knock on the forehead to another. Not knowing what else to do, Five decides to help him finish the rest of the guys anyway so the job can wrap itself up a lot quicker. 

Diego shows off with his technique and durability; Five makes up for everything with resourcefulness and his powers. Diego deflects and redirects punches and kicks; Five is gone before the attacks can even land and comes back in a second to pull a hit. Even though he’s never fought in any other way but clinically—as fast and efficiently as possible—he has to admit that it proves a good distraction from the culmination of today’s events and revelations, and it makes him want to draw out the fight a little longer. If Diego notices, he doesn’t comment on it. 

They clean up a few minutes later, the only two people standing around a pool of unconscious bodies. With the air around them so quiet save for their heavy panting, Five thinks they’re finished. But then something shines at his periphery and he turns to see someone at the other end of the alleyway, holding a gun pointed straight at them. 

The man—one of the goons Five and Diego had supposedly dealt with that recovered faster than anticipated—fires without wasting a second. Five’s power means speed is on his side, but even knows his limits, and there’s no way he can teleport there and change the trajectory of the gun when the bullet is already zipping towards them. Instead, Five turns to Diego and shoves him aside before disappearing just in time for the bullet to go past them. 

Reappearing right in front of the attacker, Five stabs him in the thigh with one of Diego’s knives before kneeing him hard in the gut, rendering the man unconscious once more. A bit of his blood stains Five’s shorts and his hand, which makes him scowl in disgust, but he wipes it off on the fabric anyway and makes his way back to Diego. Hovering in front of him and watching him groan, trying to recover from everything that had happened in a matter of seconds, Five offers his hand. Diego glares at him in response. 

“I said what I said,” Diego says. He ignores the hand offered and stands up on his own. 

Five stares at his empty hand, closing it slowly, as Diego surveys the area. "Back to your solo shtick again? Thought you got over that." 

Five doesn’t intend to say that, doesn’t intend to point out that the reason he helped instead of staying back and watching Diego single-handedly fight all of them even though he _could_ handle it alone was because he didn’t _need_ to; that he thought Diego would appreciate it—wanting to work together, because that was all he was harping about back when they were stuck in the past, and Five had presumed that this was the new, _future_ Diego, far from the boy Five grew up with that insisted on getting everything done alone. 

But maybe finally having the time to think about stuff other than the end of the world means there's nothing for Five to look back on but what once was, and maybe he’s still a little high-strung from the past instances he’s had with his other siblings, so the words just come spilling out. It doesn’t matter that he should know by now that expectation is becoming his downfall, that he’s overestimating his own pool of knowledge that he once took so much pride in. 

Diego gives him a weird look. Five amends it. “That Team Zero thing you were saying back in 1963?”

"Yeah, well, it isn't 1963 anymore now, is it?” Diego retorts. “Stakes were different back then. Present time is my home turf. I don’t need help.” 

Five rolls his eyes, irritated at Diego’s attitude but even more irritated at _himself_ for assuming. Again. “Whatever,” He scoffs. “Shouldn’t have bothered,” he grumbles to himself, turning around and starting to walk away. Sue him for caring, right? Coming here was a mistake. Seeing _Diego_ , of all people, unintentional or not, was a mistake, considering how often the two of them butt heads. Maybe he would’ve been better off back at home, dealing with Luther’s concerned looks the few times they _would_ see one another at the large house and the extremely awkward ways he’d try to bring it up as if he was any more equipped to talk things out than Five was. 

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he misses the loud way Diego sighs, but he _does_ catch his brother calling out his name, “Hey, Five. Five!”

Five looks back at him, the crossed look still on his face. “What?”

Diego hesitates, like he already regrets trying to stop him from leaving, but then he seems to give up and throws a hand awkwardly, saying, “Thanks. For the assist, I mean. Not that I needed it though.” 

He looks embarrassed about having to say it, but the words are sincere nonetheless. Five has never seen himself as someone easily swayed by words, but for some reason, that’s all he needs for the heavy feeling in his gut to vanish. 

“Anytime,” Five says, before turning around and disappearing from view. 

* * *

This is something Five can openly admit he didn’t know—that Klaus can go to cemeteries now when he used to actively avoid them before. Five questions if it’s because there were times when he had no other place to stay, but all Klaus says is, “Sometimes the company isn’t too bad.”

This is Ben’s grave though, so maybe that’s why Klaus doesn’t seem to be on edge as he usually is. Ben is technically buried back in the mansion, but Klaus reveals to Five that he has a place in a public cemetery where most normal folk are placed. Apparently, it’s because Ben wanted a sense of normalcy, to be like the rest despite knowing all his life he could never be. It’s not that surprising to hear, in Five’s opinion; Ben was the one who wanted their hero-esque life the least. 

Five hadn’t been there for the death or funeral, so he owes Ben a visit even though it’s not to the actual place he was buried, but rather the place he wanted to be. He’s the only one who really needs to go because he never got the chance to go to the actual one and he’s never even had the chance to grieve. The rest have already visited at their own time, of course, and asking one of them to accompany him is anything _but_ an option he considers. 

Klaus insists anyway on tagging along anyway. He reasons that it’s because he’s the one who had technically been closest to Ben—partially before death and mostly after it—and also because he specifically had his scheduled cleared for the day to seek some quality time with Five. The thing is, Five is not naive, and he knows the real reason Klaus is going with him is because he wants to keep him company, like it’s something Five _needs._ It makes him a little peeved, but Five isn’t really in the mood to call him out. 

“Do you really not mind?” Five asks Klaus as they make their way there, because he can’t immediately let go of what he’d known to be one of his brother’s biggest fears. “Or do you have better control of your powers?”

“They’re a lot quieter now,” Klaus answers, humming idly. He toys with the dog tags that dangle around his neck. “But you can’t _really_ run away, because the dead are always everywhere. I think being in the past changed things though; I can’t figure out how.”

“I see,” Five says. It’s nice to hear that Klaus is nonchalant about the entire thing though, no longer sickened at the prospect of going to places where the dead were most present; it means that he’s become a little bit braver, or maybe more indifferent. Ultimately, it means Klaus isn’t going to break down, and truthfully, the idea of _any_ of his siblings undergoing anything like a meltdown that Five would be powerless to stop or help is something that terrifies him just as much as the end of the world, because it would feel like the end of _his_ world. So Five likes this newfound discovery. “Good thing we have time to find out why.”

“I suppose,” Klaus allows distantly. “But I don’t know, don’t you think some things are better when they’re left answered—hey, Five. What are you looking for?”

Five doesn’t reply immediately, eyes still drifting around the area before he stops after spotting exactly what he’s looking for. “I’ll be back. Wait here.”

Of course, Klaus ends up following Five rather than staying put as instructed. They make their way to a vendor manning a cart that sells flowers of different kinds, stationed right outside the gates of the cemetery. Despite the array of options and whatever the vendor is trying to convince him to purchase, what Five gets are orange lilies. 

“That is a horrible color,” Klaus remarks, after they bid farewell to the vendor and entering the gates. “I was expecting something a bit more formal, you know—from _you_. Maybe something white? Or pink? Actually, black kinda works too. Are black flowers a thing? I’ve never really seen _the beauty of botany_. Why do you think that guy was selling so much of the same thing?”

“They’re chrysanthemums,” Five supplies. “They’re meant to symbolize mourning. They’re popular in this area for obvious reasons, so that’s why he had a large supply of them.”

“Oh,” says Klaus. “So why didn’t you get those? He was selling those pretty cheap, but instead you got this sad-looking, lonely bouquet that turned out to be so pricey.”

“Lilies supposedly signify a hundred years of love in Chinese culture, so during marriages, it’s what they use.” Though Five is confident in the facts, he’s not so confident about the rest, and the reluctance in his tone is evident. “My last conversation with Ben was about how he wanted to get married. Something traditional, if I recall, and he wanted it in the place where he was born rather than here. So,” He shrugs, trying to appear casual. “I wanted to give him something more personal than the standard.” 

Five wonders if Klaus is going to correct him, tell him that no, something had changed since that time, because after all, the last time Five had spoken to Ben was when he was thirteen and so much could happen in such a short amount of time, what more a long one. He wonders if yet again, he’s going to be proven wrong about what he knows about his family, but Klaus hums thoughtfully instead. “I mean, I never heard him mention anything about _marriage_ , but Ben was a bit of a hopeless romantic. You know him. Always the idealist.”

A vague answer, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but Five doesn’t know why he expected anything less from Klaus. He wonders if it’s pitiful or simply as expected, that the only person he can say he still remembers little anecdotes about is someone who has been dead for years. 

Ben’s grave had been placed at the far end of the cemetery, up a hill that’s a steeper climb that Five expects it to be. Klaus becomes abruptly solemn, looking around the area not in a frantic sort of motion, but more with a tinge of sadness evident in his features. Even though Five isn’t the one who can commune with the dead, it’s not like he doesn’t understand; he has his own ghosts that haunt him. The last funeral he’d attended had been their father’s, and that didn’t really count as a proper one, in his opinion, considering what went down, and then the one before that—the one with his siblings. Five took a week to bury all their bodies, placing them behind the ruins of their mansion, where a patch of soft earth had existed and made his job easier. Pogo and Grace had gone there too, and Five spent his time mourning for them all for the next forty-five years of his life.

It’s why the thought of bringing anyone along with him hadn’t crossed his mind. Visiting Ben with the others would only remind him that someday, it’ll be their names etched on the stone, and Five will have to see through their burials for the second time over while he continues living. 

All alone, once more. 

But as they reach the top of the hill, there are four familiar figures surrounding Ben’s gravestone, the only one present around the area. Five stops and stares, wondering if he’s imagining them; no matter how many seconds tick by though, no matter how many times he blinks, they’re there, _real_ , staring at him with expectation in their eyes.. 

Eventually, he says, “What are you doing here?”

Luther exchanges a second-long glance with the rest. “We, uh, wanted to see him too. It’s been a while, after all. Right, guys?”

Vanya lets out a loud sigh. It’s too easy to see through the excuse when Luther has always been a terrible liar. Still, something settles in Five’s chest, a heavy weight that doesn’t feel as suffocating as it normally does. Unconsciously, his grip on the stem of the lilies tightens. “The company wasn’t necessary.”

“Who says it’s about you? Is this _your_ grave?” Diego challenges. 

“ _Diego,_ ” Allison hisses. 

Diego ignores her, and Five realizes that there’s nothing harsh about the look in his brother’s eyes. Diego nods towards the stone. “We’ll give you some alone time with the guy and be down at the hill, old man. Don’t run away.”

 _I won’t_ , Five wants to say, insulted that Diego would presume he would, but his brother is nudging him closer to the stone without wasting a second. Five can’t muster any words nor can be put up a fight because he feels strangely overwhelmed with the presence of his family there, and what this means when in the start, he was supposed to come here _alone_. Just like he always had with anything—alone in the apocalypse, alone at the Commission, and alone in life itself because he never had much of one in the first place. 

They start to file out one by one, descending down the hill as promised. Five does not watch them go, not wanting to make his emotions obvious, unsure if he's willing to reveal to them the vulnerability he is feeling over what he understands to objectively be a small gesture. 

“Those are nice flowers,” Vanya comments before she goes, cutting off his train of thought. “I think Ben will love it.”

Five blinks, and it’s impossible to hide the shock on his face. “Yeah,” he agrees, and he doesn’t smile, but it’s clear in his voice anyway. “You’re right.”

It’s really not a big deal, the fact that his siblings had come all the way here to keep him company while he finally visits someone who isn’t here anymore, but he realizes that it means more to him than they would ever know. He realizes that there are many things he doesn’t know about his family, many things he can’t expect, and he can’t beat himself up for those. Sometimes a surprise or two isn’t all that bad, he’s learning. Sometimes they can catch him off guard and correct him and it’ll be good instead. Ones like these, especially; surprise and simple actions that leave a profound effect on him, that touch his heart more than they’re meant to.

Quietly, Five sets the flowers down on the soft grass, leaning against the carved stone. When he walks down the slope and looks at his family, he doesn’t think about their inevitable deaths, nor does he think about the solitude his future holds. Instead, he thinks about how they’re still here, brimming with life, and how he gets to bask in it. 

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. I'm at [@softpunks](https://softpunks.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Thank you so much for reading!


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